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In the beginning. Once upon a time. It was a warm, Summer day. These three phrases have something in common: they all begin a story.

The beginning of the story is essential in many ways. What may be the most important is the way it hooks the reader. If a reader is not intrigued within the first few paragraphs, they feel inclined to satisfy their interests elsewhere. This is also why a synopsis serves well in portraying the story before the story has even begun. The key factor within all of this is interest. Interest in the story, its characters, and what a story has to ... offer as a whole.

Dokuhime is a story worth garnering interest.

The one thing that stands out is the aforementioned synopsis. Set in a fantasy world of kingdoms and monarchies, warring states and political jabber. The promise of a tale of misery and suspense; a girl who cannot love, as she is poisonous to those who draw near. Assigned with the task of assassinating the king of a foreign land through use of her poisonous fluids. Everything about Dokuhime sounds like ancient epics told through hymns. In parts, it feels that way, too.

The story is set up wonderfully. The characters are established (although the central character may be misleading at first). The art is suitably gloomy and somewhat gothic. Everything progresses the way one would expect, until the moment of assassination. From the very beginning, the graphic scenes come full swing. A woman being burned alive. The effects of the "poison princess" show through profuse amounts of blood regurgitated from the mouth. It's dark without being a spectacle. It's psychological without being overdramatic. These are only the first few chapters and they're fun to read.

If only it stayed that way.

Once the story has settled, it becomes complacent. It begins to diverge along a path that branches in every direction, introducing more characters and storylines that attribute these characters. Each chapter quickly becomes less about the dire situation that looms above to developing the relationships between the foreign kingdom's royal family, made up of male triplets, and the poison princess. It almost comes off as an "edgier" slice-of-life, with a bulk of the chapters focusing on character development and the secrets the royal family hides from the outside world. It progresses slowly, carefully planting the seeds of destruction that causes an uproar by story's end. The only issue is, will the reader find the ending as anti-climactic as I did?

While the pace of the story may falter, the characters within Dokuhime all exhibit interesting qualities. Note that I don't equate "interesting" to "likable." There are some stories that like to dump all of one character's dark past onto the reader in one sitting. Dokuhime, thankfully, doesn't do this. It approaches its character development the same way it approaches its story progression: slowly. The story is set up somewhat like a fable, prophesying destruction and chaos that involves the characters. This makes the characters a tad more interesting, as the reader begins to question which of them falls into which part of the prophesy. However, this only strengthens the characters by means of plot progression. The characters themselves leave much to be desired, especially the poison princess.

What begins to develop as the story progresses is the issue of romance. The poison princess becomes the driving force (to varying degrees) behind each of the three royal princes' actions. In fact, two of the three have a few scuffles over her through the accusation of jealousy. The fear of a female-pandering reverse harem quickly entered the confines of my mind. Thankfully, yet again, the path was ultimately avoided. However, the feelings of romance still bloomed in the hearts of each prince.

A beautiful girl who is actively trying to assassinate the king of your country. The same girl you hold hostage in your country to keep her in check. The same girl you force to submit to twisted, sexual acts for your entertainment. The same girl who cannot love, for her condition shall not allow it.

Why?

Dokuhime has a very dreary atmosphere, which is aided by its style of drawing. It almost bleeds gothic and psychologically aesthetic. The characters look as they should inside of a story within the Josei genre. The men are long, light, and reek of bishie goop. The women have long eyelashes and look like dolls. Add some traumatic sprinkling and Dokuhime has its own style. Though, one issue I had were with some of the action sequences. With the way the characters looked and the gore they had already shown up to that point, some of the more grotesque actions (decapitation in particular) seemed underwhelming. Almost as if the mangaka hesitated to show too much. That may explain why they showed only half of the poison princess's exposed nipple.

Despite its length, Dokuhime has a lot to show for its run. Had it not taken its time trying to pursue an unneeded romance aspect, the story may have felt a little more impactful. Despite its flaws, it certainly has appeal. It has that interest that makes it almost immediately immersive. Dokuhime could be described as a story that doesn't live up to its potential. Nevertheless, its current state is enough to read over many fans. If not with the grim plot, intriguing characters, or mind-boggling discrepancies, it appeals with its overall experience. In the end, most remember a story for its passion, rather than its objective achievements. Dokuhime just couldn't have both.

The Metroid series made history when they decided to make their lone, warrior-esque main character a woman. Up to that point, no other game series had had a female protagonist as prominent as Samus Aran. Nintendo had created another legendary character to fight alongside Mario, Link, and various other characters in their video game hierarchy. With this new character came added pressure to give her a backstory worthy of her base appearance as a silent hunter. An attempt to make her more human, despite her robotic appearance. An official manga was created almost twenty years after her first appearance to reveal the tale of Samus ... Aran's past and upbringing into the hero that she is now. Almost twenty years later, and fans would finally get to know the whole story behind their favorite female space warrior.

One other thing to note is Nintendo's insistence on making Samus more human. Ever since the manga was released, the main games in the Metroid franchise have slowly and progressively shown Samus outside of her suit, and even has her talking regularly in the latest installment: Other M. Some fans feel that Nintendo's attempts to make her more vulnerable is unnecessary, and Samus's personality should forever remain whatever the player makes of it. One thing that most Metroid games have in common is great ambiance, and Samus's hesitance to speak only further enhances the experience of her games. Despite these complaints, Nintendo seems intent on making Samus a tragic hero worthy of pity and empathy.

One thing that is apparent immediately with the Metroid manga is that the story is not very unique. Samus is a normal three year-old girl, living on a planet with her mother and father, who serve as commanders for an unexplained federation within the population. One day, an enemy species called the space pirates invade Samus's planet and attack everything in site, with the help of their commander: Ridley. Through a series of events, the entire population is wiped out, leaving only Samus alive after the entire incident. This leads to another alien race, the Chozo, adopting Samus and taking her under their care for the time being.

Samus's upbringing screams typical shounen. The entire story can be wrapped up in a cliche mess of different scenarios that can be found in multiple other sources. Her mindset is the usual "righteousness and justice" that plagues the characters in Japanese media. If they truly wanted to make Samus a tragic hero, it may have been more enticing to make her question the events that had happened to her, rather than accept everything and fight to ensure it doesn't happen to others. Sure, she suffers from anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder, but it's only touched upon once throughout the entire story, and is resolved in one of the most unnaturally rushed situations I have ever read in any story. It seems that no matter what bad happens in Samus's life, she's able to shrug it off in a matter of minutes, or in due part to some random character's ramblings.

What's more cliche than Samus herself is the characters around her. Ridley as a character is laughably absurd. Everything with him is mass murder and insults. Nothing more. He's not an interesting character; he's evil to be evil. The space pirates are even worse. Not only are they uninteresting, but they're treated as if they were ants. No single space pirate is given more than a few panels' worth of attention, and are mostly there to showcase Samus's righteous well-being. The chozo seem well enough, but are mostly just given the role of Samus's adoptive family. Not a lot is shown of their wise and philosophical nature. However, with the logic that this manga has, I'd rather not see it. One other character worth mentioning is Adam Malcovich (as spelled in the manga), who is a high-ranking general in the galactic federation later on in Samus's life. His face, for whatever reason, is the most hilarious thing about the manga. He always looks as if his insides are being gripped by a slimy tentacle, crushing his ribs, his heart, and his ability to make facial expressions. He says next to nothing and is basically shoehorned in because he plays a role in the Metroid game that came before the manga.

Mentioned above, I touched on how the Metroid games had a great sense of ambiance. The design of the games helped that immensely. Metroid's manga has trivial art. For its time, it looks almost like standard shoujo. The humor is on par with it, too. Samus's eyes arc in a way that could only be described as the shape of topaz. Perhaps that's symbolic of her pure nature. Her body is contorted in the sexiest way possible. Even when she's (assumed) in her mid-twenties, she looks as if she's no older than sixteen. The image that this manga paints of Samus fails both anatomically and emotionally. Even with her power suit on, she still looks sexy. Everyone else comes off as hilariously misshapen or unintentionally absurd. The only saving grace? The main antagonists. Ridley, Kraid, and Mother Brain all look menacing and deranged, like a lot of time and effort were put into crafting their design perfectly. If only this showed with the rest of the story.

Giving Samus her own backstory is sure to cause some debate. And it has. Other M was panned by most fans as a pitiful attempt to make Samus into a more believable and emotional hero, even when chronologically, it wouldn't make sense for all of her past symptoms to crop up again. Such is the case of the Metroid manga. It's along the same lines; an attempt to make Samus human. The only issue here is that Nintendo can't seem to make sense of the whole thing. They rely on cliches and the usual tropes that embody modern shounen stories, and they just come off as lazy. If this is what Samus is like as a character, I'd rather be hidden behind the shadows of ignorance. If this is what the story of Metroid comes down to, I'd rather watch the Alien movies.

I remember a time in anime where death was anything but concrete, specifically in battle shounen. One could die, but just as easily be brought back to life through, say, magic or star-plated spheres. However, in recent memory, anime fans have shifted that notion in the opposite direction. They had hungered for a more serious, more damning approach to the shounen genre. One where the characters' status within the anime meant nothing for their security in battle. Most of all, when and if they were to fall, they would stay fallen. Luckily, anime fans got what they had hoped for... with Shingeki no Kyojin.

The anime ... industry took note of Shingeki no Kyojin's wild success and started scouting for successors. They took one look at Akame ga Kill and were sold immediately. Look at all the dead people! Haley Joel Osment is going to have trouble keeping calm with all of these dead people! This is Akame ga Kill's key point: people die, and stay dead, forever. That's all that's necessary to keep the hungry viewers satisfied, right?

While Akame ga Kill can keep its promise of gruesome deaths, deranged characters, and a constant stream of the aforementioned subjects, that's only the one shounen cliche they decided not to add. What's important to pay attention to is the amount of sacrifice with this anime. No, not the sacrifice of any certain character for the good of the plot, as this anime wants the viewer to believe, but the sacrifice of essential concepts put forth to creating a well thought out story. What this title lacks in revivals is made up of many, many other shounen cliches. These characters can die, yes, but are they difficult to kill? It depends on the situation.

Characters are placed into this series to die. Every character is at risk, so the viewer expects this throughout the entirety of the anime. This could cause as a sort of distraction to some, such as seeing evidence of character development as a means to get the viewer's sympathy. It also leaves out a lot of that character development for characters that may fall prey to the anime's selling point too quickly. To make up for this, they put out an episode entirely dedicated to exploring said character's past. But as stated above, this seems rushed and a means to wring out sympathy from the viewers.

Speaking of rushed, there are segments to this anime that seem all too rushed. Arcs within the anime that feel like filler only constrict the amount of time this anime has to work with to actually advance the plot to the point where it feels as if it all happened within an hour. And this anime doesn't seem convinced that viewers will continue to watch the series without more murder, so they spend time trying to build up the characters only to kill them off by episode's end. This, once again, only limits the amount of time the anime has to actually smoothly advance the plot, even with twenty-four episodes.

Taking a hard look at the characters in this series, one has to wonder whether they really feel like characters. With the emphasis on death and sacrifice, are the characters meant to be cared for, or seen as a plot device? It feels almost like a game of Survivior, where the viewer only roots for one or two particular characters to root and care for, hoping they can win the competition based on likability and/or skill. And with a surplus of characters, specifically when the Jaegers (Shingeki no Kyojin tribute?) are introduced later on, how many are really going to leave a mark on the viewer?

Regardless of all the different perspectives, I felt as though the characters only added to the overall cliche feel of Akame ga Kill. Characters, if not for their typical dark, depressing backstories, only had a key characteristic that the anime played with, while instilling comedy through means of having them act the opposite of what one would expect from their appearance. The main hero personality, the quiet caretaker, the manly homosexual (that's new), the tsundere, the flirt, the pervert, the one no audience member remembers, and the leader. Each of these range among the chart of cliche personalities, but most of them are unbearable to those familiar with the genre. To the extent of their likability depends on the viewer, but is more likely to smell like that of a rotting horse to most.

Like that of most shounen heavyweights, Akame ga Kill's artstyle is dark and has edges that could cut steel. Not to say their bodies are merely made of trapezoids, but the amount of almost frightening imagery is enough to make many horror fans giggle in delight. This is part of what this anime stands for, of course. To make this anime as enthralling as possible, a lot of key details needed to be put into battles and weapons, and they certainly delivered. Fights were flashy and fast, almost to the point of headaches, but ibuprofen exists, so it doesn't matter; just watch the pretty colors. Characters were distinct and noticeable, no matter how unimportant they seemed. Well, other than background characters, but again, who cares? Just watch the pretty colors. The overall dark nature of the show at least helps its case as a mature battle shounen. If Akame ga Kill were graded on art style alone, it would be rated with high votes.

Viewing Akame ga Kill could be a worthwhile experience for many, granted the viewer has the right mindset. Akame ga Kill had scenes where it genuinely felt like everything within it had a purpose, but it drowns out its supply of time with too much filler and a giant second half influx of characters. The one biggest problem I had with this anime was its emphasis on death and the sacrifices one makes to make the world a better place. I can see the emphasis of death, but there needs to be more emphasis on why the viewer should care about the world they're trying to save. Everything on the surface is bad because it can be. What else is there to the world other than being black and white?

Something that I find fairly interesting about Sakura Trick is the title itself. What comes to mind when "Sakura Trick" is uttered? Sakura, which is a flower with a lovely shade of bright pink, and trick, a fake-out of sorts, which may contain mischievous undertones. What was the inspiration for the name of this title? Every time I see this title, I can't help but feel like I'm about to stumble upon a beautiful disaster, or a "sakura-colored trick," if you will. Of course, the term "trick" can also be defined in other ways, but for the purpose of stating an argument, the previously stated ... definition will be used.

The "trick" in this case, would be the underlying messages that accompany Sakura Trick. On the surface, this title is about two girls who attend a school that is slated to be closed (though, this holds no importance), and decide one day, by complete chance, to kiss each other, in order to strengthen their relationship. Once this happens, their relationship becomes more than that of ordinary friends, as they cannot seem to get through an episode without kissing seven times.

While the kissing between two teenage girls itself is the main factor of the show, it is also by far the worst problem this show has. Not in the kissing itself, but the way it is presented. Contrary to popular media, love is not a drug, and the act of kissing shouldn't be compared to that of taking cocaine. What Sakura Trick does so well is displaying a strange, relieving sense of tranquility while the kiss is going on. Feelings of anticipation, slight awkwardness, and a genuine amount of affection can be felt during (roughly) all of the kissing scenes, and not always necessarily between the two main characters. Despite this, it's both predictable and out of nowhere. When an opportunity arises where the two main characters can be alone, the audience knows they will take it, and the audience know they will kiss, regardless of whether or not the mood suits it. It starts to become the only reason this show has any airtime. This is where the "trick" comes into play.

The two characters that kiss most often are Haruka and Yuu, and are assigned as the show's main protagonists. When these two characters are with each other, they act as though they're a couple, except they aren't. Though, when surrounded by friends, they show discretion, almost as if their kissing is a secret from everyone. Oh wait, it is. Something to note about the characters in this series is that they try to be funny. They try to make the audience laugh and feel good about any situation. Though this might cause the audience to not take anything seriously, there's a larger problem: the characters are dull. Try as they may, most of the jokes aren't that funny. When Sakura Trick decides to spend more time "developing" the relationship between Haruka and Yuu, they brush off other characters to do so, lest the secondary characters have a romantic relationship of their own (all characters are female, by the way). This leaves any screentime not dedicated to girls kissing much to be desired.

The "sakura" within this trick comes through with the animation style. Upon watching this, I would've bet my house that the animation studio responsible for Sakura Trick was Shaft. I was pleasantly surprised when I found out Studio Deen was responsible, as they seemed to dabble in Shaft's mannerisms within Sakura Trick. The art style and design of the entire show will at least keep an audience attentive. There are multiple examples of quick, transitional frames that showcase a character's personality well. Yuu's signature flower clip is shown prevalently throughout, and I could tell that the animators had fun stylizing the characters' features to their whim. It helps an already dull cast of characters seem full of life and charm.

While the animation is fun and the kissing scenes are nothing but passionate, Sakura Trick is conveniently named as a trick. The entire concept of the show and its emphasis on two girls kissing feels shallow altogether, and a lot like bait. Any redeeming factors this show has is muddled down by tryhard dialogue and bland characters. Only the final two episodes of Sakura Trick try to deal with the relationship of Haruka and Yuu in a mature manner, but by then, the damage has already been done. It's a show one can turn their brain off to, through and through. But it's not like we have enough series like that already, right?

Some critics argue that the most integral part of a story is the climax. It displays the turning point of a certain situation that had been building up from previous events (or episodes) in an attempt to evoke a certain emotion or reaction from the audience. Whether or not this is the most integral part of a story, most would agree that the climax, in most cases, overall helps the story in overall worth. One should also keep in mind that what causes the climax to become as integral as it could be is essential in understanding how a good story works. A story is ... similar to that of a recipe; if everything is put in at (roughly) the exact amount with the appropriate time allotted to let it bake or stir or settle, then the finished product turns out at a higher quality.

How the concept of a story's climax relates to that of Glasslip is simple: Glasslip is a show that tries to produce results by skipping certain ingredients. A good climax requires good build-up, good tension, and most of all, the audience's attention and empathy, along with other accessories. When a storywriter looks to the climax too earnestly, they are more likely to miss what comes before; like planning a trip before worrying about the luggage. I believe this is Glasslip's biggest flaw: it tries to play the drama factor before building up the drama.

What is most noticeable about Glasslip is the attention to its scenery. Everything looks crisp and clear and certainly has the appearance of a somewhat light-hearted teenage drama. Not to discredit the production values, but with a studio such as P.A. Works, this is almost guaranteed. As the story progresses, however, the attention to detail begins to diminish. Not in the scenery itself, but to those who inhabit it. The faces of the characters, as I had noticed, barely change in expression. Even if they do change, they don't seem to look like they acquire the emotion behind the change in expression. I think this plays most prevalently with their eyes. Their eyes barely change. Nothing happens to their pupils, their size; everything seems to stay course. This is where the flaws in the outer region of Glasslip end, but where the inner regions begin to show signs of disarray.

The story of Glasslip begins rather innocently. A group of friends are introduced and spend time with each other doing whatever life entails them to do. It is only when the appearance of Kakeru, a strange, transfer citizen, does a crack in the group begin to show. This results in another sub-plot to the show simply stated as "the fragments of the future" appearing as if by pure coincidence. Kakeru and Touko, the main female protagonist of Glasslip, are allowed to see these so-called "fragments."

In regards to the previous claim about the climax of a story, what is almost essential in having one be effective is through the story's characters. Glasslip's characters can all be summed up through the use of one word: mundane. Whatever they choose to do throughout the course of the series ends up meaning nothing or being quickly forgotten by the beginning of the following episode. The major characters' use of dialogue with the other major characters, who are all supposedly great friends, give the audience no reason to think they are actually friends. There is no chemistry between any of these characters, whether it be with friends, family, or romantic partners, as some of the characters do (or hint) at a current or future romantic relationship. By the end of the series, the viewer is likely not concerned with the characters' wishes because neither are the characters on-screen. It is almost as if the characters were still infants, trying to form an identity of their own through their environment while the show was still airing.

After understanding the characters, the viewer is brought back to the main story of Glasslip: drama. If Glasslip were to attempt any build-up whatsoever, some of the attempts at genuine drama could have been fruitful. Unfortunately, it tries to fill in the amount of wasted space in running time by showing cheap amounts of dramatic tension. Things such as jealousy, possessiveness, and betrayal are explored in this series, but are shrugged off the instant they arise. As stated above, everything that is said or done seems to mean nothing by the beginning of the following episode. Only the "fragments" are given any attention for more than a course of an episode, and even so, we know nothing more about the phenomenon by the end of the series as when it was introduced in the beginning of the series. When taking everything into account, this series is, simply put, a diorama, filled with pale, clay dolls moving from place to place.

I believe that the climax of a story can make or break the worth of a show. So when Glasslip tries many, many times to provide worthwhile build-up to the climax of the series, it felt like nothing had been done, nothing had been accomplished. The dull characters and convoluted story only equate to a miserable and strenuous viewing. Not to overinflate the amount of analogies already present, but one last thing Glasslip could be an example of is an unfinished story. It is the outcome of someone's haste and overwhelming desire to get to the flashiest part of a story. It's quite a shame; it looked so pretty, too.

It's not uncommon for one to wish themselves out of a certain situation. Whether it be from an instinctual desire for a grander lifestyle or the pursuit of happiness, one's desires vary from person to person. This may also be what appeals to many who are fans of roleplaying or out of body experiences. The desire for what one cannot have has driven many to madness, and this topic has been used by many forms of entertainment over the years. What No Game No Life does with this topic is shows what can be accomplished when the main character takes what he has learned and ... applies it to a world devoid of impossibilities. And when it comes to a world of impossibilities, there's no one better qualified to conquer it than those who follow their head instead of their heart. Actually, it probably wouldn't matter either way.

To accurately pinpoint exactly what No Game No Life is, one could describe it as two siblings trying to overthrow the god of a fantasy world after beating him in a game of chess. But overthrowing a god is no easy task. Firstly, they must overthrow the entire world. Whether taking over the fantasy world will even accomplish their goal is based on a presumption the main character conceived. But he's never been wrong once since entering the fantasy world, so it'd be better to go along with it. The presumptions of anything logically possible play into this world of impossibilities. No Game No Life makes it clear early on that anything worth thinking about doesn't belong in the games played in the fantasy world. Games can be won through ridiculous means. The games that are played are all conveniently geared towards the main characters' strengths. With each and every game, the characters inch closer and closer to their goal of overtaking a god. Despite everything, No Game No Life's progression is very straightforward. It doesn't try to take itself beyond the stars and it doesn't try to meddle in any unnecessary sub-plots. Most attention is dedicated to one singular mission, as stated above.

As one of the rules of the fantasy world, the denizens of said world must have fun and play games together. At its core, No Game No Life is just fun and games. When the characters aren't plotting for world domination, they're making jokes and pop culture references. The attempts at comedy during the course of the series are mostly reliant on exaggerated reactions and gratuitous fan service. While they can produce a snicker at times, it mostly feels like a cheap trick more than anything. The fan service usually comes at the expense of the female members of the cast, as a majority of the cast is, indeed, female. Whether it be from the results of a game or a part of the games themselves, it's safe to say that clothing will be removed in some fashion or another. The balance between silly and serious tends to lean more towards silly more often than not. This doesn't harm the validity of the plot much, as the plot is hard to take seriously regardless.

It doesn't take a veteran to be able to recognize the faults within the characters. With almost each and every character, there's something off about either their presentation or personality, something that goes deeper than how it appears. With a character such as Sora, the main character and only male among the main cast, you get a lanky, angsty kid who's supposedly too smart to appreciate his own world, so he does whatever he can to entertain himself. Once in the fantasy world, he quickly applies the rules to his situation and takes full advantage of them with one fell swoop. With every challenge, he dominates the opponent with the arrogance of a true king. By being nothing special socially, he acquires the admiration of all of his suitors without even trying, yet was unpopular in the real world. This implies that he could be the world's greatest human being, he just didn't care to put in the effort in his original life. Every quality of his character screams of a self-insert and moans of wish fulfillment. They combat this by giving him faults, like being a pervert or being unable to handle the outside world. But by doing this, they're making him all the more perfect. No one is perfect, so let's make him pseudo-perfect. It's perfectly despicable.

Other members of the major cast aren't as loathsome as Sora, but still fall under the category of cliche or fan service, especially Sora's sister, Shiro. She's small, cute, quiet, and has an abnormal hair color. She also has an insatiable appetite for her brother's affection. All of these traits were manufactured especially for moe. And the icing on the cake is that she's adopted, so her desire for her brother's affection is excused, but still unwelcome. Shiro is essentially walking fan service. Stephanie Dola, the klutz, is one of two major characters born in the fantasy world. She is constantly teased for lacking the intelligence that all other characters share, despite being fairly intelligent in other matters. She is the source of most of the comedy and the fan service in the show, which makes her role within the show feel more shallow. As a character, she contributes little and goes nowhere in terms of growth, making her little more than a stock character. The last of the major characters is Jibril, a fairy-like creature who's thirst for knowledge is as creepy as Sora's expressions. She's more useful than Stephanie, and has a more likable personality, too. Of all the characters, she feels the most human, despite not being human. And as a member of the female race, she's subject to more fan service than one could ask for. Whether this matters is strictly based on the individual viewer's taste.

The first thing that was apparent with No Game No Life was its style of presentation. The artwork is reminiscent of Kamisami no Anai Nichiyoubi, whose creamy atmosphere created an effect of dreary depression and bubbly optimism. No Game No Life's art style is similar to a degree, as the brightness is on par with the sun's rays. The palette of color seemed to favor those with a calming, yet alluring power. Purple, maroon, light blue, and dark red are the colors that stand out most while watching this title, and their combination makes for a stunning outcome. Unfortunately, this type of presentation can be a little overbearing at times, as the lighting can sometimes make the characters blend in with the background or appear a tad too bright. The animation itself is one to be praised. It's charming, efficient, and bold; three things that can make an average anime look fantastic.

If anything, No Game No Life is interesting. The plot isn't anything as spectacular as it presents it and the characters are atrociously written, but it at least looks like a modern epic. The characters may be flat, but their interactions are humorous at times, granted they aren't playing games. Regardless of all of the flaws, it's entertaining to the highest degree, granted those who view it aren't too cynical. It has the qualities to succeed, it just uses them through means of popularity rather than quality. If anything, if one doesn't care to continue viewing No Game No Life, they can imagine themselves in a world outside of their grasp, similar to those within the series. It wouldn't hurt.

The driving spirit behind any production is the appeal it provides to others. What anime has done well over the past few years is provide a diverse selection of animated stories (although unbalanced) to those with a stubborn mindset. Every year, hundreds of anime titles spanning all sorts of genres are released to the public, providing entertainment for those who tip their fancy to mystery, action, sci-fi, mecha, slice of life, and especially ecchi-comedies. One of the aforementioned genres, slice of life, was nothing but a concept ten years ago. Now, it's become one of the mainstay forms of entertainment among anime titles. To those ... on a slice of life fixation, Acchi Kocchi is a title that will flip their fedoras, however proves unsubstantial to those prune to the easy-going genre.

With any slice of life, plot is used only for temporary purposes. It swiftly shifts from place to place whenever necessary to continue the overview of the series. What Acchi Kocchi provides is a set of two stories for each episode, labeled "Part A" and "Part B." This, in turn, makes the series feel more structured in content and proceeds like a fine-tuned machine. However, ruins any feeling of an easy-going continuation of the story. It simply feels like a collection of stories. Another point to make is that the series starts off during the winter, where the characters' signature heavy clothing comes into play. Within four episodes, it skips the spring and catapults straight into the summer. Within the next four episodes, it goes back to skipping one season and settling for the one after, winter, until the series finally ends on March 14th. Through twelve episodes, consisting of two sub-stories within them, the series jumps a year and a half in length. This title truly is a slice of life, as it leaves the other seven-eighth's to dry out in the summer sun.

However way the plot proceeds, the major focus of a slice of life is to showcase the characters of the story, and Acchi Kocchi provides quite a few. Each character present has their own role in the show and never strays away from it. When it comes to romance, which Acchi Kocchi doesn't seem to know anything about, the same two characters are involved in every scenario. When it comes to comedy, which Acchi Kocchi is far better at than romance, each character has their own "unique" way of trying to produce chuckles from the audience. One character does so through jealousy and embarrassed reactions. Another through their own density; saying things which are inappropriate for the given situation. But mostly, the characters provide comedy through slapstick that defies the laws of, well, everything.

What one may find apparent while watching Acchi Kocchi is the complete lack of detail given to each character personally. Within the first episode, one will come to understand the worth of every character through their actions. Beyond that, no more information is provided. Acchi Kocchi's characters are those that the audience can only take at face value. Identifying with the characters can only come from how they react to any scene. This being known, watching Acchi Kocchi can be compared to watching a short movie on a brave knight rescuing a princess from a decrepit castle filled with dangerous creatures. There is no character building. The series relies solely on the emotions provided by the environment to produce amusement among those who choose to accept it.

Of course, what better way to evoke emotion than to pander to our weakness for anything adorable? Acchi Kocchi believes in the philosophy that if anything is cute or "moe," people will wait in line till nightfall for it. Everything presented in this series is tailor-made for some sort of cliche "moe" fetish. One of the main characters, Tsumiki, has cat ears and a tail, and will react appropriately depending on her mood. Whenever something embarrassing happens or someone says something slightly risque, the characters' noses will start spurting blood like a fire hose. The characters' designs in general are chibi-like and colorful, especially the female characters. Everyone looks young and no one looks old. Even the school teacher looks and acts like she could be a part of the main group. Everything is so innocent that it's disgusting.

While everything out front looks cookie-cutter in general, the background lacks the same appeal. When looking behind the characters' faces, one can notice that the detail behind them is faded into a sort of mist. This "mist" may have something to do with creating a dream-like effect on the title, making it seem so mystifying or calming that one can't help but feel elation. However, it could also be seen as a lack of effort by the production team to make the series look realistic. Of course, Acchi Kocchi doesn't look realistic in the slightest anyway. Another interesting tidbit is that the background characters, those that don't speak or have anything to do with the story, don't move and don't have eyes. Lazy? Perhaps. I like to think they don't have eyes because they tore them off having to look at the lack of effort.

There are few things that are certain in this world. One's nationality, the Simpsons airing, and everyone having an opinion are three such things. If one wishes to indulge themselves in a finer slice of life series, Acchi Kocchi could be right up their alley. However, they should be warned that, as with most slice of life titles, everything is skin deep. The type of merriment this series provides only stems from the emotions that one is willing to give to enjoy it. Most of the characters are dull, the comedy goes to overly-exaggerated means to induce humor, and the art could make even the most brutal of people develop a sweet tooth. Acchi Kocchi isn't something to experience, it's something to watch, despite its intentions. And with enough experience, one can only remember this title to forget this title.

As one grows accustomed to their surroundings, it is only natural for one to gradually accept their surroundings. Whether this be from a humanistic need to conform or an unconditional surrender to one's current knowledge, those with an isolated background are at a complete disadvantage when it comes to tasks outside of their range of comfort. This isolation takes place in Alyosha, a story of a girl of the same name raised to be the ultimate assassin, only knowing a world of battle and wits. When her country suddenly cuts all ties with her, she's left with only one mission, a mission she's doomed to ... fail: become a normal high school girl.

While the concept of a girl outside of her comfort zone is no rare thing, what stands out initially with this story is the lack of a central male character. Typically, manga like this try to incorporate a subtle romance aspect to the story in order to draw in people of all demographics, or use it as a placeholder if the author feels it necessary to uphold. Within the story of Alyosha, only one male character comes into play later on, but serves no interest to Alyosha as a romantic aspiration. This male character, Ryuunosuke, is basically a character to add for plot convenience, as this story truly loves to incorporate.

If Alyosha was to be compared to anything, it would feel most appropriate to compare it to a watermelon. The outer casing of Alyosha as a story is concrete, concealing the inner workings of the story to a bare minimum, as it's fragile inner core is easy to penetrate. The story presents itself as a high school comedy with an action/adventure twist; Alyosha must try to maintain her high school girl image while at the same time fighting off pursuers who want her head. This is the outer casing, as through words, the story seems legible enough to get by. However, as one digs deeper, the story begins to unwind. The foundation for the story's outer casing is only held by the facade of an indestructible fortress. Alyosha's story is quick to leave behind the trivial trials of a normal high school girl, becoming that of a typical action flick. The reason being could be its failure to produce a legitimate depiction of a normal high school girl's life. Alyosha as a character is capable of doing superhuman feats, while at the same time cannot be deterred by any event or trial, despite her background, which seems to be an advantage to her in any situation. Perhaps the author sensed this, therefore gradually shifting towards a more suitable scenario.

Without the use of a central male character, the story introduces a cast of characters well-endowed with their knowledge of mahou shoujo titles. Of the many characters introduced during the title's longevity, four are more or less obsessed with a particular anime series, complete with magical girls and limited edition merchandise. With this being said, it eludes to an unconscious acceptance of women (of all ages) to be fascinated with animation involving magic and the cute girls who wield them. This is the stereotype that most characters share in Alyosha. It is difficult to identify who is and isn't a major character, as their characters only hold importance during certain aspects of the story.

The two characters who seem to be of any importance for the majority of the series is Alyosha Stalina and Katie Lindberg. Alyosha, as stated earlier, is a trained assassin who is tasked with becoming a normal high school girl. Her superhuman feats make it easy for her to overcome any obstacle, but can't overcome the obstacle of the reader's speculation of legitimacy. Katie Lindberg is sixteen, "Amerian" (American), a super genius, works for the FBI, holds a big bust, and is a closet otaku. She is roughly thirteen stereotypes rolled into one, along with being an occasional fuel for fan service. Her trust in her friends, including one whose killed 283 people without as much as flinching, is uncanny, to say the least. Outside of the main two, but still important to a fault, Miru is the character left out of the loop for most of the story. Because of this, she is left to her own concerns, those that normal high school girls would concern themselves with. If the story of Alyosha was so concerned with the idea of presenting the escapades of typical high school life, Miru would be the central character. With her lack of knowledge of her surroundings, Miru becomes the damsel in distress of Alyosha, a role that perfectly suits her helpless demeanor and buoyant ambition. It's truly a shame that she wasn't focused on with as much care as, say, anyone else.

The artistic integrity of Alyosha's story is dependent on the context of the plot. With Alyosha's early focus on the slice of life, its art reflects the semi-relaxed nature of the story's direction. The character designs are unique, albeit slightly stereotypical, and their eye sockets are drawn in a slight shoujo-ish fashion, contrasting from the title's shounen undertones. As the story becomes more accustomed to its action/adventure genre, the art decides not to change. Because of this, the action scenes consist of a few panels of unbelievably flexible fight sequences. Overall, these sequences feel lazy in nature, almost as if the title doesn't care to let go of its original, carefree purpose. The art feels most natural in the most natural of settings, while the story of Alyosha only explores this setting sparingly.

This title is one of trial and error. It attempts to mix action with slice of life, soft visuals with severe situations, and analyzing the psychology of a girl raised to kill with the girl's inner innocence. Alyosha, to some, may not seem as a much of a grand story as it is the outline of a grand story in purgatory. What this title does provide is thought-provoking enough for all of the wrong reasons. The unrealistic feats for one so young is one of many things about the story that makes it more than fiction, but less than a fairy tale. Alyosha as a story is as confused about its destiny as those typically graduating out of high school, but the potential is there and so, too, is the value of experimentation.

When everything is said and done, anime only has one purpose: to entertain. If it fails to do so, it is deemed exactly so, and those who strive to create such entertainment shy away from the subject as a result. On the contrary, if a single anime is deemed so entertaining by the masses that they are willing to rip each other to pieces in order to get a glimpse of what more could be done with the series, those who strive to create such entertainment might feel pressured into doing so out of obligation and greed, rather than for the intended purpose. While this ... continues to happen, the quality of certain series only continue to skyrocket with each sequel. If there were any series that were to come out within the last couple years that I feel deserves to be left untouched, it would be Kill la Kill, studio Trigger's very first anime blockbuster.

Kill la Kill is the creation of director Hiroyuki Imaishi, who is most known for directing titles such as Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann and Panty Stocking and Garterbelt. What becomes common knowledge while watching Imaishi's works is that he has a tendency to overexaggerate. Fight scenes, overall animation and design, fan service, and story telling are a few notable examples of subjects that Imaishi toys with in every creation. This trend isn't broken in Kill la Kill, as the very beginning sequence shows. No context, no background checks, just a quick overview of what the viewer comes to witness and the story begins. While intimidating, this type of story telling can benefit the viewer by baiting them into feeling more immersed in the story, as if they were actually there, as ignorant as the youthful characters within the series. The only information given at the beginning of the series is that Honnouji Academy, a school grounds of epic proportions, is being run by a terrorizing force in Satsuki Kiryuuin. The only thing in her way is Ryuuko Matoi, a strong, developing individual who suddenly appears in Honnouji Academy to search for her father's murderer.

The story of Kill la Kill grows as with its progression, ultimately becoming more substantial than anyone starting the series could ever imagine. The other thing that comes with this type of plot is the magnitude of unrealistic situations. No matter the event, Kill la Kill ultimately can't escape some of the shounen cliches that it means to spoof, leaving them in a state of laughing at their own misery. However, what the series does so well all throughout is hold its ground; no matter what happens, the characters, the plot, the animation, all will make it through to the end, by any means possible. What Kill la Kill accomplishes with this is what was meant to be accomplished in Imaishi's other series: entertaining the viewer through sheer spectacle. Despite the plot's flaws and unrealistic qualms, the story is entertaining to view from every standpoint, even from the stingiest of mindsets.

Those who inhabit such a sporadic plot are sure to be colorful, right? To varying degree, the series does well in creating characters who match the overall tone. Ryuuko Matoi is the main heroine of the series, and that role is never relinquished, even in times of hardship. Her growth as a character is only slightly embellished, while her overall progression of strength may seem strange to some. Mako Mankanshoku, Ryuuko's friend and the show's main source of comedy, is the epitome of what kind of character can evolve from the rapid-paced animation of Kill la Kill. Very rarely is she shown in a normal state of balance, always bouncing off of walls and displaying unrealistic feats of human biology. She's legitimately funny, which is always nice to see from a longer-running series. Satsuki Kiryuuin as a villain is about as grand a performance as any series could ever hope to accomplish. She sticks to her beliefs and crushes those who oppose her, even those who were at one point accepting of her rule. Her cold demeanor makes her somewhat disheartening as an overall character, but, along with Ryuuko, Satsuki becomes just as three-dimensional as any valid character. The side characters serve their roles well, but almost never stray out of it, almost as if the very thought would kill them instantly. With a series like this, it wouldn't surprise me. Regardless, every character feels genuinely important to the plot of the series.

What fully deserves a round of applause from every person within an Earth-sized radius of the North Pole is the animation. It's rare to see so much effort put into the fluidity of the animation. The fight scenes are flashy and well drawn. The characters' designs are interesting, along with every outfit they choose to wear. The only thing I could care to point out is that when compared to high-quality works of this time period, Kill la Kill seems almost old-fashioned, but that might be a point in of itself. Most, if not all, entertainment derived from this show can be traced back to how fluid and smooth on the eyes the art style is. If one were allowed to mention one key point about Kill la Kill as a whole, animation might be a common choice.

One other thing about Kill la Kill's art style is the amount of fan service present within each episode. While, admittedly, the first few episodes almost relied on it, the connection to the characters and the focus on the plot almost makes one forget that they're basically fighting naked. The outfits worn by each character are so stylishly designed, I'd even suggest that what isn't shown of the female body is almost more alluring than what is. A distraction from the distraction, if you will. Using fan service from one taste to combat fan service from another taste. Kill la Kill is just as much a battle of where to pay attention as it is a battle against characters.

A series as entertaining as Kill la Kill is bound to give pressure to its creators to create something just as amazing, if not better, than what they can handle. They could always try to appease their appetite with an appetizer, such as an elongated OVA or a few movies, but to recreate the magic that Kill la Kill left within an audience will be a difficult task to accomplish, if they decide to continue the series. Whatever they choose to do, Kill la Kill is enough to leave any fan either clamoring for more or feeling satisfied with a creatively diverse story. Despite some issues with realism, every question that arose with Trigger's first official tv series, whether it be its ability to entertain or its animation skills, were checked off with every passing episode, and met with a solid following.

Some people say that the best way to solve a problem concerning internal conflict is to talk to someone about it. Whether this proves true or not is to be decided by those with said conflicts, but even so, who should one of these people talk to in order to ease their conscience? Friends, family, strangers, celebrities? These are all likely possibilities, but what is debatably the most regarded choice in the matter is the local psychiatrist. People believe that because psychiatrists have a degree in psychology or study in the field of human development and interactions that they'd make a suitable choice to fix ... one's mental problems, because they would know what was going on in their minds. However, if Kuuchuu Buranko is any indicator, every patient has the exact same problem, and the doctor who's responsible for their treatment doesn't have to stray far in order to combat their inner struggles.

What those who choose to watch this series will immediately notice from the beginning sequences is that it's bizarre. It is bizarre in the sense that the animation switches between standard animation and live-action, and some of the imagery is so vivid and bright that they would think they were in a dream. Along with some scenes that don't make sense, Kuuchuu Buranko begins as a lost cause. To the unknowing, the series is just a mess of random characters doing unusual things with a single individual being guided by a doctor in a bear helmet. If one chooses to continue the series, the events that transpire within the first episode begin to unwind into a chronological system, wrapping and binding each and every character to ever visit the doctor into one central setting. Through whimsical determination, the plot of this series dances around our own image of a continuous, straight-forward story progression and shows that there are other ways to mend a conceivable plotline than previously possible. And it's all possible due to the star of Kuuchuu Buranko: Dr. Ichiro Irabu.

When thinking of doctors, one would expect them to be clean, fresh, professional, and straight to business. Dr. Irabu is the exact opposite of all of these traits, which automatically makes him a cliche character. However, this kind of cliche is easy to like, seeing as his charm comes from the combination of his uncharacteristically child-like antics and the pure intentions behind them. While his role in the show is to push the plot forward and to help his patients recover from their problems, the beautiful thing about this anime is that he isn't shown too much. When it comes down to it, he's a psychiatrist, and his job is to help his patients. By taking this role, he becomes only a side character when compared to his patients, the real stars of each individual episode. However, due to his forms of treatment, it's hard to form any sense of satisfaction after his patients find peace within themselves at the end of each episode, seeing as his methods only serve as a stepping stone to make way for the patients to figure out their quirks themselves. Again, this could be another example of his role as the doctor, which only makes him less obnoxious as a character in general. Not to mention, he's genuinely funny.

While Irabu and his patients are the driving force behind the story's progression and likability, there are notable side characters that also deserve some recognition. Mayumi, Dr. Irabu's "sexy nurse," is normally shown through live action shots, which make her more attractive... to some. She assists Dr. Irabu with giving each patient of his an injection shot, which both of them take extreme pleasure in. Basically, she's an assistant to comic relief. However, she also has individual scenes that give her a sense of humanism, albeit minimal. Then there is Fukuicchi, a doctor who spontaneously jumps out of mid-air to inform the viewer of facts that may not be apparent to everyone watching. He only serves as a fact machine and gives additional information towards each patient's condition. For the most part, the things said are interesting, but nothing more.

Probably the most noteworthy thing one could take from this series is its direction in art style and animation. It likes to mix between standard animation and live-action within each episode, usually with each patient, but Mayumi is normally live-action and Fukuicchi is always live-action. The amount of symbolism present with its unrealistic design also comes into play. With each injection given to Dr. Irabu's patients, said patient's head (or other limbs) turn into that of an animal, which appear whenever they struggle with their condition afterwards. Each animal represents the condition each patient has in some way, which makes for an entertaining watch. The most bizarre of issues arise with this, as Dr. Irabu and Mayumi can see these animalistic transformations, but seemingly no one else can. Whether this is supposed to represent that they can see the struggles that the patients go through or not has yet to be confirmed, but it would be a plausible theory. Other than this, specifically with the last episode, there are also visual phenomena that represent the struggles that each patient goes through outside of the realm of possibilities. It's usually dots, but other symbols are also used.

At first, I believed this series was so laced with symbolism that it was hard for me to concentrate on the story at hand, but with each passing scene, the story became so much harder to follow. It wasn't until the end of the second episode that I began to realize that while each episode feels formulaic in general, it also tries to take its time to create an ever-lasting ball of yarn, constricting each and every character together into a single, amassed creation of creativity and dots. The phrase, "Good things come to those who wait," is easily applicable to this kind of series, as Kuuchuu Buranko doesn't try to force its strengths upon arrival. It has just enough appeal to lure in the audience with its artistic design, and keeps the audience watching through its attention to detail and symbolism. Seeing as none of the central characters change between episodes one and eleven, it's hard for the viewer to feel impacted emotionally upon finishing the series, but it does provide an appreciative empathy for what truly matters: helping people in need.